


Revenge is sweet

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 14:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood





	1. Chapter 1

London

February 1466

The bitch had given birth to a girl and news was all over the palace. Thomas Fitz Gerald jumped up on the wall in the gardens of Westminster Palace, almost slipping off when his arse hit ice. He caught himself. Glaring at the man who laughed. 

“She’s had a girl.” FitzGerald said with glee. 

“Well! Thank fuck for that!” The Earl of Warwick hooted. “I mean I would not wish Edward did not have a son, but I would wish that whore as little success as possible.”

“Dick, take a care.” Worcester, perhaps the most boring man FitzGerald had ever met, whispered. “Only I would not want Edward to hear and...”

“Oh John.” Warwick clapped the Worcester in the back. “Please, don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” 

“I’m not worried about you, you fool.”

“Ah, John.” Warwick rested his hands in John Tiptoft’s shoulders. Worcester looked away, thoroughly perturbed. What had he missed? These two were usually so close. “Do not take it all so seriously. Understand, this is a great thing.”

“That the king is without an heir and that you’d wish that?” Tiptoft scoffed. Dick of Warwick and beside him William Hastings, Edward’s chamberlain, laughed. 

“Hey.” Thomas jumped from the wall. “John, you speak a lot about a topic you know naught about.” He saw Worcester raise an eyebrow in question. FitzGerald looked to Hastings and Warwick. “Gentlemen, maybe he is so tetchy because he has no heir. Maybe...” he fell silent as he felt his nose crunch. 

“Jesu!” Warwick cursed, pulling John away. “Jesus, John.” Warwick chuckled. “He didn’t mean it. I’m sure.” FitzGerld dabbed the blood from his nose with a velvet sleeve. 

“You’ll regret that.” John barked as Warwick pushed him back. “Christ! You’ll regret that!” 

**

Drogheda 

Ireland, 1468

Well this was going to be a fair trial...

Thomas FitzGerald, Earl of Desmond looked at the floor. He would not look his judge in the eye. Death would not terrify him, so long as he did not look it in the eye. He had God, unlike the man before him, he was not Godless. Of course, verdict had not even been passed but he had resigned himself to death. What was the alternative outcome? 

The whole thing had been a set up. Accused of treason, he? Accused of treason against King Edward? He scoffed. Then the order had come from London. Word had already spread that the King’s hand had been forced - if he had even signed it himself. Still, the warrant had arrived with the Royal Seal, most likely sighed but  her . All that was needed was for Worcester to authorise it. 

He only needed to say those few words.

Words which owing to a grudge, from several years ago, would no doubt be uttered.

He looked up, determination in his eyes the Tiptoft spoke. “Thomas FitzGerald, Earl of Desmond.” Worcester had ever loved the sound of his own voice at trials such as these... when he had convicted Oxford and Sir Ralph Grey... whenever he had been involved in legal affairs, or affairs of state, he had gone for the longest sentences imaginable. Christ he was insufferable. Desmond had never liked him. “Your case has been heard, as has that of the men who accuse you.”

“I want to hear the King’s account.” Worcester’s lips thinned. “I want to hear it from the king that I am guilty of treason.”

“The King is not, and shall not be, in Ireland.”

“Then I wish to be tried in London.”

“This is feeble attempt to delay my lord.” William Sherwood spoke. Sherwood was a clergyman who had a hatred, deep rooted, for Desmond. “Do not listen.”

“You do not choose where your trial is held my lord, or by whom. The King has given authority...”

“Has he? John? Has he?” Desmond risked, played the only card he had remaining. “Last I heard it was not the King’s actual signature, though it was his seal. The person who forged it is more guilty of treason than you think I am.” He saw Worcester’s face change. The signature was not the King’s... Jesus it was true. He recognised that look. 

“You heard wrong.” Tiptoft lied. 

“The bitch should face charges. Using her husband’s authority...”

“You do not speak of the Queen so.” Sherwood barked. “Insolent man. John, shall we?”

“We have heard the evidence...” Worcester stated.

“False evidence.” 

“Of a plan to become King of Ireland and topple myself, a representative of the King...”

“I had no intention of becoming king of Ireland.” Desmond shrugged. 

“By the power granted to me by King Edward, you shall be taken from here and your head removed.” 

**

Thomas ran to keep up with the men who walked him. He would not grant John the pleasure of seeing him dragged. He saw John ahead, stood by the scaffold, leaning against it. Arrogant bastard. Arrogant fucking bastard. 

“You know.” He heard John’s voice above the wind. “Fetch his son.” Worcester barked to one of the men. “I hear he was involved in plotting my down fall.” 

“Which one, my lord? There are two.”

“Two?” He shrugged. “Worth me saying dispatch them both. I do suppose.”

“They’re 14 and 15! Please John! Please!” Thomas begged, dropping to his knees before Worcester. He winced as Tiptoft’s boot pushed against his chest. He fell backwards. 

“Perfectly capable of treason, aren’t they?”

“John!” FitzGerald half screeched as he was pulled up. “Think man! Don’t do this, your conscience. You have a son would you see him...”

He fell silent as John held up a hand. 

“Just get this over and done with.” Worcester barked. “The Irish wind is fucking cruel. I wouldn’t have you all out here longer than needed. Inform me when it’s done. I want an update by dusk.” 

“John! Come back!” Desmond shouted, silenced as they forced his neck onto the block. 


	2. Chapter 2

London

October 1470

He knelt, though he uttered nothing in prayer, even as the beads rested in his hands. Christ, how it did weigh on him. He had said his prayers, repented. He had done it all and still it weighed on his conscience. Why did Desmond have to be right? Why, of all the people in the world why him? 

There had been a time he thought himself immune to this feeling. So many years doing almost what he liked, almost unchecked. Of course, Edward had been furious when first he heard of Desmond. Threatened to bring him back from Ireland to face charges. That was until he had sent the attainder back, with the royal seal and signed warrant. Then Edward had gone silent, though all knew, knew that Ned’s hand had been nowhere near that warrant. 

John knew he could feign his ignorance though. 

Ignorance that had seen him get away with Desmond’s executions, his sons too. 

Yet, whatever the law may over look, whatever Edward may have been willing to forgive; God would not be so merciful. God would not forgive him for killing innocents, no more than he could truly forgive himself. 

“My lord.” He looked at the priest as the man came back into the cell. “You asked for me?”

“Thank you father.” He knew he sounded humbled. Wanted to laugh coldly, death did that to you. He should already be dead. He had dealt it so readily, so mercilessly to others that England had prolonged this agony for him. 

“How can I help?” The priest sat as John pointed at the bed. 

“I do not hope you will give me the answer I want, but I will ask all the same. Does God forgive those who kill innocents, for purely selfish reasons?”

“Innocents? Well, my lord.” The priest looked away. “By your own hand?”

“By my order, so more by my hands than the men who did it.”

“Then.” He sighed. “I would need to know more, though I believe there is not a thing God would not forgive, if you do have faith in him and beg forgiveness for your sins.”

“I have begged.” He frowned. “Yet I do not feel absolved.”

“We never truly know if we are absolved of sin, my Lord, until God determines our fates.”

“I thought that the answer you may give. Well, I will confess to you what I have to no man in the past. I did execute a man lawlessly. Without the Ki- without King Edward’s say. In fact, I knew it would anger him and that the warrant was false. For that I am sorry but it is not that which kept me awake last night. That will keep me awake tonight also, I am sure.” The priest was silent. He was not to be the judge. The ending of his mortal life had been determined. The beginning of the next? He sighed. “I killed his sons too. For nothing more petty than an insult the man had once paid me, regarding my childlessness. Now my son will be without a father. Not for that crime, though I am certain it was added to the list against me.” He looked away from the priest as the man put a hand on his shoulder. 

“John, I may call you that still?” He nodded. “Please understand, I cannot tell you what you want to hear. You have ever been a devoted man, I have been told by my lord Warwick. God will not forget that. He judges us not only by our sins but by our devotion. Our dedication to Him. I think that should bring you comfort, even if I cannot say it will bring you rest.”

Worcester nodded. 

“Is there anything I can do, to ensure my it is clear I do regret the sins I have committed?”

“Pray, and be clear in your devotion to God, John. That is all I can recommend.” He stood, placing a hand on John’s head. He uttered a prayer and without a further word, he left. 


End file.
